The Unkindness of Ravens by M. Hilliard (readera ebook reader .txt) 📗

looked at her and wondered what that was, and what I would be doing at her age. What I would feel I had left undone. A wisp of melancholy uncurled in my middle.

“Your father—” I was interrupted by a roof-rattling peal of thunder.

“Uh-oh. I better get busy,” I said, raising my voice to be heard.

“I’ll do what I can, Greer,” Millicent said as I turned to the opposite end of the hallway.

I heard hard rain assault the manor. Then a wordless, startled cry. Millicent. I spun around.

She was standing at the window, half-turned toward me, wiping her face.

“Millicent?”

“I’m fine. Just the cold rain.”

A thunderclap burst around us. Lightning tore the air outside over and over. The manor shook beneath my feet. The lights dimmed, flickered, and died. Millicent reached up to grasp the window. She used her left hand, her right resting on the sill. Another flash of lightning outlined the skeletal frame beneath her elegant blouse, and cast death head’s shadows on her face.

There was a great disturbance around Raven Hill Manor, and I wanted nothing more than to cower in some safe spot until it had passed. I stood rooted as the building groaned and the emergency lights spilled small, sickly pools of yellow at the edges of the hall. The wind shifted and, once again, I heard rain beat at the manor, this time behind me.

“Go!” Millicent ordered, waving a bony hand toward the back of the hall.

Drawing a deep breath, I forced myself to turn my back to her and face the seething shadows lurking between me and the far end of the hall. The air swirled around me as all the open windows created cross drafts that plucked at my hair and clothing. The frenzied motion of the trees outside allowed shifting streams of gray light into the rooms along the hall. It was like being underwater, with a host of things that never saw the sun moving beyond my line of sight.

Suddenly and desperately, I wanted to go home. Back to the city, where I knew what was what, where I belonged. Back to a place where Danny and Joanna were still alive, where this sucking sadness and fatigue did not exist.

A door slammed shut beside me. I shivered in the chilling air and stuck to the center of the hall as I moved forward.

“Only the wind,” I told myself. Just another storm in a season of violent storms, the inland version of a nor’-easter, according to Jake Barrett.

The currents have always been strange in the Ravens Kill.

More thunder. I kept my eyes fixed on a small picture at the end of the hall, an oil some long-dead artist had done of the manor ravens.

Unkindness and Murder.

I heard my own whispered voice in my head, and pictured the scene on the lawn. The manor gave another anguished groan. The lights flared to life and quickly died. I paused, waiting for my eyes to adjust.

Be careful, be careful, Greer.

So many warnings. So much unexplained.

You’re not a cop. Not your job. Just walk away.

I had walked away before. It wasn’t so hard, and I was so very tired.

The wind howled. Another door slammed. I jumped.

“Are you brave?”

The line from the book came back to me. The most important question, Sadie Barrett and I agreed.

“Are you brave?”

The images raced through my mind. Henri and Pierre, my gatekeepers. A sleepy Sadie spying a headless ghost. Jack and the loping hunchback. The loathsome Ed Dexter. Vince and Millicent, a frightened Felicity. Neighbors casting suspicious glances at one another. My neighbors.

Joanna, cold and dead at my feet.

Nevermore. No matter who or what it took.

“Are you brave?”

“I hope so,” I said, setting off down the hall.

The wind rose to a scream. Doors slammed bang-bang-bang hard on my heels. The emergency lights flickered and faded.

“I hope so,” I whispered and stepped into the darkness.

Chapter Eighteen

The storm subsided around dinner time, leaving behind a trail of debris and a creeping fog. The manor’s electricity was quickly restored. None of the trees or big limbs the storm brought down hit the building. The only one of our power lines affected was quickly repaired. The road and the banks of the Ravens Kill were littered with branches, but the house seemed to exist within its own protective bubble.

Much of the afternoon staff never made it in, stuck on the opposite side of downed trees or power lines. The remaining staff put the place to rights and drifted out as the weather eased. I was glad of the early close—it was one of my nights to stay and I was exhausted. The one part-timer who made it in managed to finish most of the closing before a phone call summoned her to pick up a stranded child whose planned carpool had been disrupted by the storm. It wasn’t until I had set the alarm and reached the parking lot that I remembered I had no car.

I’d gotten a message mid-afternoon from the Darryls—they needed to order a part but promised to have my car ready by Friday. In all the excitement I’d forgotten. Now I was stranded.

I debated calling Henri. He still drove, though rarely at night, and the patchy fog would be problematic for him. He’d be my last resort. I ran through all the people I knew who might be able to come and get me. The ones who were closest were on my suspect list, and the rest lived far enough out of the village that I could walk home by the time they arrived. I didn’t fancy spending the next twenty minutes alone on the manor grounds, and I had no desire to go back inside and wait. I’d cast plenty of bait that morning, secure in the knowledge that I had a bright and busy afternoon in which to reel in any takers. But now it was full dark, and I was uneasy. I wanted to get away.

I scrolled through my contact list, hesitating at Jennie Webber’s number. She’d warned